


All My Dreams Are Of You

by smalldisasters



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-05-20 15:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14897448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalldisasters/pseuds/smalldisasters
Summary: It's the end of high school and the boys are going away to college. Stan has to cope being away from his best friend.





	1. I Don't Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter is titled after a song, maybe give them a listen if you want to hear my inspiration :)  
> This first one is I Don't Sleep by Sarcastic Sounds. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

“What do you dream about?” asked Stan, packing the last of his clothes into his backpack around his laptop. He was getting ready to leave his best friend’s apartment. He didn’t want to go.

“I don’t dream much. But I keep having nightmares about my teeth all falling out.”

Kyle pulled a disgusted face.

“I’m spitting blood and teeth and I look in the mirror and there’s just this like, black hole where my mouth is, it’s freaky.”

Stan nodded, zipping his bag shut.

“That’s meant to be a sign of lack of control, you know,” he said.

“Yeah, if you believe in dream meanings.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and pulled a hoodie over his bare chest. He was wearing sweatpants and no underwear. Stan thought it was a very good look on him. Tying his shoes, and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Stan looked at Kyle and nodded again. They walked quietly down to the basement parking lot of the building.

“See you later,” Stan said with a nod. Kyle put his arms around him, pulling him in and holding him for a moment. A moment too short for Stan’s liking. He never wanted to let go, he never wanted to leave. He wanted to live here with Kyle and wake up every morning beside him, but he couldn’t.

_She_ would be home soon.

Stan couldn’t forget her, not while Kyle was taking his clothes off, not while he was kissing Kyle’s smart mouth, not while Kyle’s pale thighs were wrapped around his hips. He couldn’t forget her, even when they lay on the bed, or the sofa, wherever they’d been when the need had become too strong to resist, and their limbs were tangled together, slick with sweat. They would be breathing hard, fingers holding tight to each other, and Stan could not forget _her_ , not the way Kyle seemed to.

_She_ had a name, and a cute face, and a wonderful personality and Kyle’s heart.

And Stan couldn’t even hate her.

The drive back to his apartment was a several hours, but it gave him time to think, and process his weekend. He visited Kyle every few weekends, when he was off work and Kyle wasn’t too busy with his degree. He realised Kyle hadn’t asked what he dreamed about, and it was probably for the better. He considered his recent dreams, some nightmares of Kyle’s face twisting up, leering down on him and telling him he’d never love someone so worthless. Other dreams were more pleasant, but waking up from them were worse. He would wake damp and sticky from sweat, and would have to immediately try to stay in the dream while he masturbated to whatever dream-Kyle had been doing to him. At the end, he’d feel dirty and pathetic, as the conclusion always ended in Kyle confessing his undying love, his girlfriend forgotten.

Not that he slept that much anymore anyway. He found himself lying awake a lot recently, insomnia creeping over him night after night. He would lie in bed for a little while, tossing and turning, trying to just get comfortable and go to sleep, but would inevitably get back out of bed to go and lie on the sofa in front of a film, or listening to music. The sofa was more comfortable than the bed anyway, and there was a duvet in the living room for those occasions. He kept meaning to buy a new mattress but never got around to doing it. Most nights he would get a drink, a couple of glasses of whiskey, or rum if he had any. Maybe more. Eventually he would sleep in the morning, only to be woken too soon by his phone’s alarm to go to work.

Sometimes the drink-induced dreamless sleep was the best he could hope for, because at least he wasn’t dreaming about Kyle.

He turned the stereo up. His car wasn’t as nice as Kyle’s, but his family didn’t have the money to buy a better one when he graduated high school, and it got him around, so he didn’t need to buy a new one just yet. Unfortunately, Stan wasn’t able to replace the built-in stereo, which was new when the car was, so consequently only had a CD player in it.

Kyle’s had an MP3 player and iPod connection.

He ended up burning a load of CDs which he kept in a case in the car. There was a mixture of stuff in there, and if anyone would have looked, he would have been embarrassed by some of the choices available, and passed them off as ‘old’ or ‘a friend burned them for me’. Thankfully, hardly anyone got into his car. He occasionally gave a work colleague a lift home, or another student when he’d been in University, but they were acquaintances at best, so they weren’t prying through his CD collection.

He pushed down any thoughts of Kyle, and sang along, loudly and tunelessly to his music until he got home. He pulled into his building’s parking lot, and grabbed his backpack out of the back, locking up and letting himself into his apartment. It was a little block, with only six apartments, much smaller than Kyle’s seventh floor in his high-rise tower.

His apartment was empty and silent, so before he’d even taken his shoes off, he’d powered up the iPod dock in the corner of the room and set his music playing its eclectic playlist. Metal followed pop followed techno, and he liked the variation. Kept things interesting. He put his shoes on the rack in the hall and hung his jacket up. He went straight for the kitchen and poured a glass of whiskey. For the amount that he drank, he actually knew very little about whiskies, and really just bought was what cheap, but not too cheap, because Stan had enough money to not have to buy something that tasted like he imagined paint thinner would. He flopped down on the couch, putting his glass on the coffee table in front of him. He glanced around his little one-bedroom apartment. It was mostly tidy, he’d taken the trash and the recycling out the night before he’d left, but he hadn’t bothered washing the plate and glass he’d used. There was also an empty vodka bottle he’d missed by the sofa, that he kicked over when he got comfortable in front of the television.

He flicked through the channels with the volume on mute, forgetting to turn off his iPod, but when he found nothing to watch, he left it on some chat show, half-watching them silently laugh and talk inane shit to each other. It was like company.

For the most part, Stan loved living alone. No-one getting under his feet, or telling him that he had to wash dishes when he was done, or taking up space in his bed. However, some days he would have traded in all the peace and quiet in the world to have someone to welcome him home. He’d had girlfriends over the years, but they never lasted. He didn’t have a type. Sometimes they were loud and bossy, sometimes they were shy and retiring. He’d dated a goth he met at a rock concert, only to find she was not easily entertained. He’d dated a pretty, demure looking brunette, but she was incredibly demanding of his time. He’d dated girls who only wanted presents, girls who were looking for a husband, but none of them fit.

Including the girl he was currently dating. Lana was nice. She was independent, and didn’t ask a lot from Stan, so he was managing well with her so far. But then, he wondered why you would date a girl if you never wanted to see her. He remembered he’d said he’d call when he got back from Kyle’s.

He turned the music down, rang her number and waited for her to pick up.

“Hey there, you. How was your trip?” Lana said, relaxed and easy. Stan liked that. She wasn’t tightly wound.

“Good. I just got back.”

“Can I come over tonight or do you want some time to yourself?”

“I’ve got work in the morning,” he sighed, as if he was put out, flopping back on the sofa.

“Me too. I’ll have to get up early to get there. I bet you boys were up all night playing video games.”

“Something like that…” They definitely did play some video games, but they were up all night because they couldn’t stop kissing, and touching and fucking, and Stan was starved for Kyle’s affection. More than anything, he was so used to barely sleeping, that he couldn’t easily sleep, but he didn’t mind, lying, watching Kyle’s face, learning all the curves and shapes that made him up, as if there was anything left to learn.

“Hey, what’s the matter, honey?” Lana asked suddenly.

“What?”

“You just went quiet. Everything okay?”

“Sure, look I’m really tired. How about you come over tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, no problem. Hey, Stan, what do you dream about?”

Stan was about to say goodbye, but he stopped, hesitated, before he answered.

“I don’t dream.”

Lana laughed.

“Okay, hon, I’ll let you go. Get some rest. Bye.”

“Night.”

He hung up the phone and dropped it on the sofa beside him. How do you tell your girlfriend you dream of your best friend? How do you tell someone that you dream of someone else? Why did she even ask after he asked Kyle? Did she know something?

Kyle had said he dreamed about his teeth falling out. It was meant to mean he was afraid of losing control, which was Kyle in a nutshell. High-strung, control freak, gotta be right, but so just and fair and understanding.

Stan took another drink, wanting to just stop thinking so damn much. He toyed with his phone, thinking about inviting Lana over after all, just so he wasn’t drinking alone again. But Lana didn’t like drink, and so Stan never drank around her. Alcohol was the only company he wanted tonight.

Before he went to bed he sent Kyle a Snapchat message, sticking his tongue out and putting a cute filter over the top, in hopes it would make him smile.

_Sleep well. Hope you don’t lose your teeth. :)_ he wrote over the top.

A few minutes later, he received one back, with Kyle and _her_ with little dog ears and noses from the filter.

_You too x_

He stared at it until it disappeared. He wanted to only notice Kyle, only ever see Kyle in those pictures, pretend _she_ didn’t even exist in his life. But she did.

Her name was Carrie. Her face was round and her eyes were big and amber-brown. Her cheeks were always pink and her dark curls had blonde highlights running through it. That was the beautiful face that Stan saw when he shut his eyes that night. Kyle would have washed the sex out of the sheets, threw out the empty vodka bottle they’d shared, put the glasses in the dishwasher. It would have been like he’d never even be there, trying to break up their relationship from the inside out.

He felt guilty when he thought about it like that, Carrie was sweet, caring, loving, anxious, funny, smart… he could go on for a while listing all the lovely things about her, and it all trickled through his mind. Homewrecker, slut, callous, insensitive followed on, his own qualities.

He got up a half hour later to watch the TV, leaving it on mute, but with his music off. He watched infomercials, able-bodied people using products designed for the differently-abled. Jimmy had told him that once: that most infomercial products are made for people with disabilities, and are only made marketable by pretending they’re for everyone. It made Stan feel bad for ever laughing at the actors mimicking disabled people.

He fell asleep on the sofa several hours later, and he dreamed of his teeth falling out.

The alarm on his phone went off way too early for his liking and he pulled the blankets closer around him. The TV was still playing, some early morning cartoon. He left it running in lieu of real company, and turned his music back on while he got ready for work, taking his uniform out of the wardrobe in his bedroom and dressing after a quick shower. He tended to wake up as late as possible while still getting to work on time. He skipped breakfast, and had a coffee while he was dressing, getting him out of the door in twenty mins of rolling off his sofa. He worked at a large hardware store, and Kyle had laughed at him when he told him.

“Toolshed!” he’d teased, and Stan had grinned weakly. He’d been reminded of the embarrassing superhero game they’d played when they were ten too. They’d all thought they were so cool with their badass alter egos, but in reality, it had been incredibly lame. But they’d had a good time, better when they stopped the whole Civil War bullshit and Stan got to be on Kyle’s team again. He routinely sort-of fell out with Kyle when they were kids, but they always made up, and amazingly, it wasn’t even always Stan’s fault. Sometimes Kyle took the steps to swallow his pride and apologise first. Sometimes Kyle even made up with him when it _wasn’t_ his fault, and Stan would insist that he was sorry too, and they’d share an awkward smile and know they were cool again. Stan hated falling out with Kyle, but it kinda just happened, when Stan was so stubborn and Kyle so hot-headed. They said things they didn’t mean, but it always ended up water under the bridge.

They hadn’t fallen out in a long time, it had been several years since their last petty argument, and Stan was starting to think there was nothing they couldn’t work through, and they really would remain solid friends forever, just like they always promised each other.

Stan’s work was far from fulfilling, and not exactly what he’d dreamed about as a kid, but his dreams had varied and changed year by year. He still didn’t even know what he was supposed to do with his degree, and he hadn’t much looked into what work was available to him with it. He’d become sick of the sight of environmental research, pollution studies, and laws about foresting that he didn’t really want to do it anymore. He used to think he’d be a pro footballer when he was in school, but he wasn’t even the best in South Park, let alone getting a scholarship on it. It was another thing he’d dreamed about but really, he never stood a chance.

He was working on the cash desk, checking out people’s purchases, which was his least favourite aspect of his job. He preferred working stock, but he hardly ever got to do that. He idly tapped his fingers on the empty desk. No-one was there at 8am to buy wood and hammers but they still opened that early, so he had time to daydream, trying to scold himself into looking for a new job, but he just couldn’t figure out what he wanted to do. His mind wandered, wondering how other people had themselves so figured out when he was just so _stuck_. Thankfully, the day passed quickly, as customers started trickling in, keeping Stan busy until he could go home.

There were perks, he worked full time, so he got a decent pay check at the end of each month, it kept him busy five days out of seven. It was better than staying at home alone all day. He could pay the bills, he could visit Kyle, he could… he didn’t know what else he could do to fill his empty days. He got home and immediately put the television and his music on, sitting down with a drink, feeling directionless.

He stared at the mute TV until he fell asleep.  

 


	2. Habits

“Alright, you take care of Kenny for me, okay?” Stan said to Karen who nodded.

“Of course. Someone’s gotta look out for this mess,” she joked, nudging Kenny with her shoulder.

“I’m gonna miss you, dude.” Kenny looked genuinely sad at his friend leaving. For all Stan and Kyle were inseparable, Kenny had always been close too. Leaving him behind in South Park felt kinda shitty to Stan, but he trusted Kenny knew what he was doing. Karen was, and always had been, his number one priority. Besides, she was eighteen soon enough, in just a few years, and then they’d be hightailing it out of the shitty mountain town. Maybe they’d only go as far as Denver, but they’d be out of the broken home they lived in, and maybe one day they’d be able to go to college, or whatever they wanted to do. Kenny’s life was making Karen’s dreams happen.

“I’ll miss you too. Both of you.”

Karen had joined their high school in the year that the boys had been seniors, and she’d spent some time hanging out with them, her friends crushing on the older boys. They’d got to know her, and didn’t mind it too much when she would study in the library with Stan and Kyle, or hang out and listen to Kenny play guitar when he was in the music rooms, though quite often they would encourage her to make friends her own age, especially as they’d be leaving at the end of the year.

He left the McCormick’s and went home, checking everything he needed was packed, just leaving his toiletries to throw in his backpack in the morning. He went to bed, staring at the ceiling, too nervous to sleep. Kyle had been gone a week, and he missed him horribly. He hadn’t had much time to talk, and days had been kinda lonely without him. He was trying not to think of Kyle making new friends and living out on his own, free from his overprotective mother and asshole father.

“Tomorrow,” he said to the walls. “Tomorrow I get out of here.”

He didn’t sleep much that night, and could only think about being closer to Kyle, a few hours’ drive away from his best friend, instead of the thirty cross-country hike he was away when Stan was still in South Park. If he thought about anything else, the whole thing would avalanche down on him and moving away would become completely real and terrifying. He was doing the drive in parts over the next few days, his parents had given him money to stay at a hotel for a night, he was staying with family another night, and a hotel again for the third night. It might have been easier to fly, or take a train, and have his car shipped, or even to sell and rebuy when he got to Pittsburgh, but instead he chose to drive all his stuff all the way there over four days.

It passed fairly swiftly, he drove for hours each day, stopping off in each place for the night. Strange hotel rooms that didn’t smell of anyone. A family he hadn’t ever met, but his mother had assured him they were happy for him to stay. Some convoluted relative like a cousin’s half-sister’s auntie and uncle, who had given him a cooked meal and a bed for the night. He made stilted small talk in the evening, wishing he could have just stayed in another hotel.

He arrived at his dorms, unpacking his car into the place he’d call home for the next year. He would be living in a block with several other people, on different courses, and he bumped into two of the guys from his block in the shared kitchen, when he went to make a coffee. They introduced themselves, talked a little about where they came from and what they were studying, before Stan excused himself for his bedroom.

It’s not that Stan was being rude, or anti-social, he just was exhausted from the travelling, and wanted to be by himself so he could call Kyle.

He picked up after two rings.

“Hey dude, are you there? How is it?”

“Seems fine. Just met a few of the guys. We’re going out later tonight to get to know each other.”

“Okay, take it easy though? Don’t nervous drink.”

“Me? Drinking ‘cause I’m uncomfortable?” Stan laughed, and so did Kyle.

“How are you settling in though? How’s classes? I feel like I’ve hardly spoken to you recently.”

“I know, it’s so weird being away from you,” Kyle said, a little sadness in his voice. “But the course is really full on. I’ve been crazy busy already. Everyone is pretty cool. I’ve been out with a few people I’m dorming with, so it’s been okay here.”

“When can I visit?”

Kyle laughed.

“Miss me that much, huh?”

“You know it.” Stan grinned to himself. He really did miss his best friend. That many inseparable years had taken their toll on his ability to be without him.

“I’ll see when I have a free weekend and let you know?”

“Okay, make it soon.”

“I will. I have to go, but I’ll call you soon.”

“Okay, bye, dude.”

“Bye.”

The line clicked off, and Stan put his phone on his desk, setting up his iPod dock so he could put his music on while he started to unpack. He’d gotten new bedsheets, new kitchenware and a new laptop for the occasion. He didn’t want to bring his big computer, which was pretty old, so he’d treated himself to a little new tech.

That night, as promised, he went out with a half a dozen of the people from his course, and had a pleasant enough night, but there was something absent about it. When he got home and locked himself in his bedroom, he told himself it was just because they didn’t know each other yet. He’d stayed true to his word to Kyle and very slowly drank two pints of beer. He didn’t like beer that much, but he knew whiskey or vodka would be too drinkable, and he didn’t want to out himself as a heavy drinker the first night he spent with the people he would be seeing a lot of.

The next few weeks passed quickly, as he threw himself into his course, at first thoroughly enjoying the relaxed layout of the classes, the knowledge of the lecturers seeming so much better than the useless high school teachers he was used to. He went out with people from his course, and people from his dorms. He went to parties with a flask of vodka to mix into his drink, alcohol that he’d stolen from his dad over the months, knowing he’d need to stockpile ‘cause he’d struggle to get any while he was away out here.

As it happened, someone offered him a fake ID for one-hundred and fifty dollars, three months into term, and thinking of his waning supply, he took him up on the offer. He was handed a card with a picture of a dark-haired man that looked mostly like Stan. The date of birth marked him as twenty-two, so Stan hoped that he could pass for that. He memorised the information so that he could recite it if any sceptical eyes were on him, and used the card the next day without issue. He breathed a sigh of relief after he’d stowed his litre of vodka and a smaller bottle of whiskey in his rucksack and left the store. The bored-looking clerk had barely even looked at him when she’d looked at it, checking the date quickly.

So, he took drink to parties, keeping a small bottle in his pocket, adding to his drink as he noticed many others were doing too. It seemed to be in poor etiquette to ask anyone for some of their illegally obtained alcohol, so Stan was relieved he wouldn’t have to share his small amount. Those who weren’t bringing alcohol for the first few parties quickly caught on after the first couple of months and found ways to procure their own liquor.

He found himself in parties almost every weekend, in someone’s dorm, or in the bar that ran an eighteen plus night, marking a black cross on the back of the under twenty-ones’ hands, but Stan thought they couldn’t be blind to the teenagers getting drunk in front of them. He would go to a party, come home alone and continue drinking until he fell asleep. 

It wouldn’t be completely accurate for Stan to say he enjoyed these parties. He didn’t really know anyone any better, he just had familiar faces that he had a superficial relationship with of vodka and sharing a kitchen. There was no quiet to talk, no peace to quietly hang out. He sometimes thought of inviting people over to play video games or study together, or watch a movie, but he felt uncomfortable inviting a stranger into his dorm room. He thought of what Kyle would do, and he somehow imagined him leading a very different course. However, he didn’t have a _bad_ time at the parties. He got drunk, which he liked, and he danced to loud music, which he found he liked, once drunk. He kissed strangers, and occasionally a girl would ask him to take her back to his place. The idea of having drunk sex in a single bed in a tiny dorm room was unappealing at best, and he’d learned enough to never sleep with a drunk girl. Instead, he gave a few girls his number, or took theirs and texted them in the morning to see if they were still interested.

Usually there was nothing, and Stan was relieved. Until there was.

_Hey, we met at the Starfall last night right?_ an unknown number texted.

_Maybe. Who is this?_

_Oh sorry lol! It’s Sophie :)_

Stan didn’t entirely remember a Sophie, but he had a vague recollection of entering his number into a girl’s number. He remembered long dark hair and a very glittery purple dress.

_Oh yeah! How are you this morning?_

He hadn’t been texted back before, he had no idea to date a girl he didn’t go to school with. In fact, he hadn’t dated anyone since he started sleeping with Kyle two years ago. He was suddenly very nervous, feeling inexperienced. He knew what Kyle liked, but although he would never admit it out loud, he had never slept with a girl.

_I’m not so hot. I think I drank too much. How’re you?_

_I’m okay actually. Not bad._

Stan did feel quite okay. He didn’t take enough drink to get really drunk anymore, even though he left the dorms already half-cut.

_Lucky! Do you want to go for a coffee?_

_Sure, when?_

_Today?_

Stan took a deep breath and asked himself if he was ready, and decided he had to be.

_Sounds good. Do you know anywhere? I’m new here_

_I know a great place, do you live near the cathedral?_

_Sure I know where that is, do you want me to come pick you up?_

_It’s cool. I’ll meet you at Lili’s, you can google it :)_

Stan looked up the place on Google, finding the little coffee shop Sophie had suggested. They arranged a time that would give them both a few hours to get pepped up and washed before they had to meet. Stan left the volume up on his phone after texting Kyle.

_I think I’m going on a date :o_

Kyle didn’t text back while he was in the shower, or while he was choosing something to wear, or when he was lacing his boots and checking he had his wallet, phone and keys. He drove to the coffee shop, finding roadside parking and went inside, hoping that he would be there first so he didn’t have to recognise Sophie. She was already there, but thankfully, she looked up from her phone and smiled brightly his way with a little wave. Her dark hair was in a plait over her shoulder, but she wasn’t wearing a glittery dress. _But then,_ reasoned Stan, _it’s 3pm on a Sunday, why would she be?_

To steel the surprising jangle of nerves, he’d knocked back a few mouthfuls of whiskey before he’d gotten out of the car, figuring that he’d be safe to drive after the time it took to drink a coffee with a stranger.

He waved awkwardly back at her, before buying a coffee at the counter and sitting down with her.

“Hi, I wasn’t sure if you remembered me,” she said, sounding as anxious as Stan felt.

“Honestly, I didn’t at first, but I did recognise your face. You were wearing a purple dress, right?”

“Well remembered!” She paused and smiled uncomfortably. “Okay, um, so you didn’t tell me your name.”

“Oh, sorry, it’s Stan. What am I saved in your phone as?” he asked jokingly.

“Dtan. I figured you were Dan but I thought I’d check.”

Stan kept wanting to check his phone through the conversation, as he’d taken to doing a lot. Kyle hadn’t texted back since Friday morning, and he was worried. He left it in his pocket, and tried to engage with this, frankly, very pretty girl, who seemed funny and interesting, and everything Stan knew he should be looking for. He started to relax as Sophie did, and between them they chatted and laughed and ordered another coffee and a slice of cake.

They left after a few hours, agreeing to meet again next weekend for another date. Sophie said she would text through the week to organise it. Stan gave her a hug goodbye and offered to drive her home, but she politely refused. He got home fifteen minutes later and immediately poured a drink, collapsing down on his bed and pulling out his phone. No response.

Over the course of the coffee date, little bits of memory came back to Stan, he remembered Sophie wanted to go home with him, sloppily kissing his neck and ear. She wasn’t a tidy drunk, he remembered. Things had been coming up in Sophie’s mind too, as she kept blushing and saying ‘oh god I just remembered…’. They agreed that it was a good thing they hadn’t gone home together that night, and Stan decided he could definitely like Sophie.

It didn’t take anything away from the fact that Kyle hadn’t been in touch for over two days though. Stan finally gave in and called him on Sunday night. He picked up after several rings.

“Hey, dude, I’ve only got a minute, okay?” Kyle said, sounding rushed. “What’s up?”

“Oh, uh, I just haven’t heard from you lately, I wanted to check in.”

“Sure, yeah, things here are okay. I’m just really busy, y’know?”

“Yeah? What have you been up to?” Stan asked, trying to buy more time, just to hear his voice.

“The courseload is huge, and I’m actually on my way out with some guys from the course.”

“Um, I’ll let you go then.”

“Cool. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Sure, man.”

The line went dead and Stan poured another drink.

 


	3. Deathbeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I... uh... had a lot of stuff in life and writing has fallen entirely by the wayside, but I have the next few chaps done so hopefully they'll be okay. I'm sorry!  
> The song is Deathbeds by BMTH. Enjoy :)

It was several weeks later when Carrie was spending the weekend at her sister’s, the next state over. She left at six on Friday night, and Stan took the day off work to catch a cross-country Greyhound bus to arrive there at seven. He had a litre of vodka in his rucksack and he hadn’t eaten in a day, maybe two, he couldn’t remember. He didn’t really bother to eat much anymore, it simply didn’t matter to him. All he really cared to spend his money on was visiting Kyle and drinking anyway. He had stopped driving to Kyle’s place, finding out that the bus took about the same amount of time, but it was cheaper than the fuel. It also meant he could quietly sip whiskey and sleep on the journey. He walked the distance from the bus station to Kyle’s place in fifteen minutes, hitting Kyle’s buzzer, his shoulders relaxing when he heard the redhead’s voice after so many weeks and miles.

He took the elevator to the seventh floor, and knocked on apartment seven-oh-six. Kyle opened the door and let Stan in, smiling. He kissed him gently.

“I missed you,” he said softly. Stan loved hearing him say that first. He loved him making the first move to kiss him, or touch him, or hold him. He loved knowing Kyle still cared.

“I missed you too.”

Kyle rested his hands on Stan’s waist and Stan simply looked at him for a moment, feeling lost in his deep sea green eyes. He leaned back in for another kiss after a moment, unable to keep his lips away from Kyle’s, when for the weekend he was all his. Stan pushed forward, taking Kyle’s lower lip between his teeth and nipping. He made a small sound and broke the kiss, leading the way to the bedroom without a word.

They lay in bed talking for a while afterwards, before Stan remembered he’d brought some drink, and they returned to the living room without dressing, and Stan cracked the bottle open, rummaging in Kyle’s fridge for soda, finding Diet Coke. He usually preferred the sugary kind, but Kyle only had a few cans of regular Coke in the cupboard in case of hypoglycaemia, right next to his insulin and some cereal bars, all in a little plastic crate labelled ‘Diabetic’. Kyle was organised like that.

He poured two glasses of vodka and soda and handed one to Kyle.

“Let’s go out tomorrow night,” Kyle suggested, stretching his legs across Stan’s lap, taking a long drink.

“Sure, where do you want to go?”

“There’s this nice little bar I go to sometimes, and a great club, if you’re into that?”

“I love a good dance.”

Kyle laughed and Stan drank deeply, matching Kyle’s fast pace. Carrie didn’t drink, and wasn’t fond of Kyle having a drink, but she had a ‘boys will be boys’ attitude about Stan’s visits, knowing there would always be a bottle in his bag, and another in their freezer.

“I bet you can’t dance for shit.”

“You’d win that bet.”

If they’d formally made a bet, Kyle would have definitely won, thought Stan through an alcoholic haze, trying to stay in time to the rolling drum beat pounding through the air. Kyle wasn’t much better, but he never was a dancer either. Stan wanted to pull Kyle closer and grind up against him, but he didn’t think that it was the right place. They stepped outside for a moment, Stan pulling cigarettes from his pocket. He lit up and checked his phone, even though the only person he wanted to hear from was currently looking up at the stars, right next to him. Kyle didn’t say anything about the cigarettes. Stan didn’t smoke much, and sometimes he got nagged about it, but tonight Kyle seemed relaxed and happy to let him smoke. Stan fiddled on his phone a little more, thinking and searching.

“Hey,” he said quietly, at last. Kyle looked at him, tearing his gaze away from the clear sky. Stan dropped the end of his cigarette and showed Kyle his phone. “Let’s go to a gay bar.”

“What? Why would we do that?” he asked in disbelief.

Stan grinned awkwardly, suddenly realising that he had made a mistake. He had ran with a thought, forgetting entirely that Kyle wasn’t gay, _he_ wasn’t gay. They weren’t together. Stan swallowed hard, as it all rushed back to him, suddenly feeling incredibly sober.

“You’re right. Dumb idea. Let’s go home, yeah?”

“Sure, if you’re done here.”

There was still alcohol at home anyway, they could keep drinking there. Stan smoked another cigarette as they walked, making their way back to Kyle’s apartment without a word. Stan poured drinks as Kyle found a film on Netflix that they’d wanted to watch, but not really got around to.

They’d meant to watch it on Saturday, but had spent the day lying around talking and kissing and Stan was just enjoying being close to Kyle again, like he was meant to be. They had sex on the sofa, and when they went into the bedroom, deciding they wanted to sleep for an hour, they woke up with slow kisses and lazy touches.

Stan lived for these weekends. He didn’t really feel complete at home any more, and he didn’t think he had for a long time. His apartment was just a box for him to live in. He didn’t feel right at South Park either, when he flew home at holidays to see his parents. He stayed in his old bedroom, which had been painted navy and cream since he moved out years ago. It was little more than a guest room now. It wasn’t somewhere he could feel like belonged. But then he came to Kyle’s, and for a couple of days, he felt okay, when he forgot they weren’t real. It didn’t happen often, when her makeup was by the sink, and her books were on the nightstand. Her mugs in the kitchen. Her heart in Kyle’s hands. But in fleeting moments, he could touch Kyle’s face and pretend that this wasn’t cheating.

He didn’t like how far away they were sitting on the sofa, so he lay down, resting his head in Kyle’s lap. Kyle relaxed, making himself comfortable and brushing Stan’s dark hair with his fingers.

He liked drunk Kyle. He got all pink in the face, and he laughed a lot. Stan liked his laugh a lot. Drunk Kyle also let weird comments slide, and loved to chat about all sorts of nonsense topics, so when Stan said something strange, he just sort of moved past it like he hadn’t really thought about the implications.

“Maybe we should date…” Stan blurted out. He his eyes shut. He’d had a lot of vodka and the room was spinning. His heart pounded and he didn’t dare to look up, even when he felt Kyle look down at him.

 “I dunno… I mean, I’ve never thought about dating guys, y’know? Besides, I’ve got a girlfriend, remember.”

“It’s not _guys_ , it’s me.” Stan winced at the desperate tone to his voice. He ignored the girlfriend part of what Kyle had said, because she clearly wasn’t that important, not with the way they fell together every time she left for the weekend.

“You’re drunk, dude. Go to bed.”

Stan did as he was told, for once, and woozily lifted himself off Kyle, and went upstairs to his best friend’s bed, alone. Kyle came up later, and Stan, still awake, felt himself being watched before he was joined in the bed. They didn’t touch and they didn’t cuddle up together like they usually did. Twice in one night, Stan had accidentally revealed too much to Kyle, and he’d just had it written off as his drunken weirdness. Stan was relieved in a way, that it was just another thing that he had said wrong and it didn’t really mean anything at all. At the same time, he didn’t know why he kept saying these things, when he knew damn well that Kyle didn’t feel the same, even if he felt _something_ because they wouldn’t sleep together otherwise. Stan lay awake, turning things over in his mind. He only had a few hours left with Kyle and he didn’t want to leave it feeling uncomfortable.

“Sorry for being weird today,” he said quietly, unsure if Kyle was even still awake. He was, and he shifted around in the bed, his hand finding Stan’s under the sheets.

“Don’t worry about it.” He sounded half-asleep so Stan didn’t say anything else, and let Kyle sleep.

They got up late the next morning, and Stan packed up slowly, getting all his clothes together. Kyle’s hair was a mess and Stan didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. The weekend had gone too fast.

On the ride home, he didn’t sleep, but drank the rest of the small bottle of whiskey he hadn’t shared with Kyle, knowing he’d want the drink for the long bus back to Pennsylvania. Instead, he thought. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t shut his mind up, as it barraged him with questions.

He didn’t know how Kyle felt about him, and he was too afraid to ask, in case the answer was _nothing_. He knew it wouldn’t really be nothing at all, but it would be far too little. It was unfair to Kyle, he thought he had a best friend, and instead Stan had an overwhelming, obsessive love for him. Stan understood he couldn’t treat Kyle like this, he was being pushy and needy and it was going to drive Kyle away from him if he kept it up. He felt miserable, having to leave so Carrie could come home, and somewhere it registered it wasn’t fair on him either. He couldn’t keep torturing himself with dreams of being with Kyle when it was simply never going to happen.

He decided he wasn’t going to shove this all on him anymore. He didn’t know how to stop being in love, he’d tried that before, but he had to relent on his worthless dreams.

He walked home to his lonely apartment and let himself in. He grabbed a bottle of vodka, didn’t pick up a glass or mixer, and knocked a third of it back in his bedroom with the lights off. He fell asleep in his clothes, and wondered if he’d remember his resolution the next morning.

He woke up hungover, as he did many mornings, his alarm sounding like a siren to his pounding head. He stiffly got out of bed, taking another mouthful of vodka for good luck, before making his way to the kitchen to down several glasses of water. He skipped breakfast, skipped a shower, sprayed on a little extra deodorant and changed for work.

He picked up his phone and started to text Kyle when it all crashed back down on his head. He deleted the text, and for the first time since in years, didn’t say good morning to his best friend.

He didn’t say goodnight either, stubbornly stashing his phone under the pillow out the way. He’d been at work all day, then come home to his messy apartment to drink himself to sleep, but had actually dragged himself to his bed, feeling tired for a change. Although, when he was actually in bed, he lay awake for several hours thinking. He rewound and replayed the weekend over and over in his head.

Friday had been so good, they had spent the evening drinking and kissing and talking. Stan couldn’t remember exactly what they’d talked about. Caught up with each other, mostly. Kyle was coming towards the end of his fourth year at Harvard, and the course had started full-on and only got harder. He seemed to be handling it well, managing his workload while still managing to make more friends than Stan ever did in his years at university, although it sounded like most of his socialising was done over textbooks in study groups. He seemed to work most weekends, studying instead of going to parties and drinking, but he had friends doing the same things, so they were able to get to have fun while quizzing each other on the textbook chapters they had been working on. He was not as easily at the top of the class as he was in school, but it mattered more now, and Kyle was even more fiery than he had been then, was determined to excel at everything he did. He was acing his classes, despite the competition and the massive pressure. Stan knew he couldn’t have coped with all of that, as he passed his own three year course with less than outstanding results. He was, however, immensely proud of his best friend for how well he was doing.

He was also grateful, as Kyle did absolutely zero studying on the weekends he was there. He didn’t attend his usual Saturday morning study group at the library, or pick up a single textbook, even when Stan said if he needed to study he should go ahead. The first time Stan had visited, he’d expected Kyle to have to work at least some of the time he’d been there, so he’d packed his PlayStation but ultimately had not even taken it out of the bag. Kyle had made it clear on that stay that he needed a weekend off now and then, and Stan’s being there was the perfect excuse to relax and unwind.

“I mean, of course I like my friends, but it’s really good to be with you,” said Kyle when Stan asked about it.

“If you’re missing a study group, I can just stay here, or go along and I dunno, just hang out or something.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I am taking a couple of days off. I don’t even want to see a textbook right now.”

He threw a cushion at the pile of books on the table and Stan laughed.

“Oh, I get it. I’m an embarrassment and you don’t want your friends to meet me.”

Kyle laughed too, and punched him in the shoulder.

“You’re an asshole. Next time you’re up, I’ll arrange for us all to go out Saturday night.”

Things had to be arranged in advance there, no impromptu parties happened around Harvard. Spare time was at a premium and every day had to be accounted for; there was no room for slacking off. Stan routinely skipped classes or lectures because he had been having a midday drink with his dormmates, or as the course went on and everyone else got serious, having a midday drink by himself. Or if he was too hungover. Or if he just didn’t feel like going. Kyle had missed three days in the four years he’d been at the school, and two of them were due to unavoidable illness. He’d even gone to his grandfather’s funeral back in South Park in third year, flying back the same day in order to only miss one day.

If Stan had thought he was committed to his studies back at South Park High School, he would not know what to call this level of passion. And Kyle was passionate, he talked with enthusiasm about his studies, and his eyes lit up and he used his hands to express how much he was enjoying his course, his friends, his life. He was in his element, the difficult challenges, the text-heavy learning, it was all exactly what he wanted. He talked about becoming a lawyer for real, and the battles he’d have to face defending the children and families against whatever they were up against. He hadn’t changed his mind on his area of focus, and tailored the course to suit him, choosing the appropriate module path. By the end of first year, he’d already selected what classes he would take in his final fifth year.

Stan was envious. He had almost flunked his degree, which he had no interest in using, and worked in a hardware store. He wished he had the direction and purpose that Kyle had. He’d changed his mind about his specialism and chosen his elective classes almost at random. He’d regretted not taking a different course altogether, or not even going to university. He looked up carpentry training, and art classes, and a million other things that he could have done instead, but couldn’t afford to do now. He thought too much about how he might have blown his only chance at getting a really good job, one that he loved and came with a career path. But then he thought about how he didn’t love anything other than Kyle, and how loving Kyle would not pay his rent. Though, in his daydreams of dating Kyle, he sometimes wase a perfectly happy house-husband, keeping the house sparkling clean and having dinner ready for him coming home. Those were the most embarrassing thoughts, the contentment of everyday domestic life. He could justify his dirty thoughts to the fact that Kyle had grown up very attractive, and while Stan knew it wasn’t _normal_ to get off  thinking about your lifetime best friend, it definitely was more acceptable than to imagine being married to them.

Especially when they had a long-term girlfriend. Stan rolled over in bed and buried his face in his pillow, as in his imagination he saw Carrie coming home, ordering a takeaway because they couldn’t be bothered to cook, eating noodles, Kyle’s favourite, in front of a movie, cuddling up on the sofa, telling each other about their weekends, saying ‘I miss you, I love you’, undressing-

Stan groaned out loud. He hadn’t had a text from Kyle all day. He didn’t know if he should apologise for his monumental screw up on Saturday night, but Kyle had held his hand so surely, he wasn’t that bothered. He tried to put that out of his mind too, trying to shove all the thoughts about Kyle and Carrie and himself out of his head so he could just sleep.

Another hour later he was back on the sofa, with the infomercials on mute. He had forgotten the vodka by his bed, and he couldn’t be bothered to get it. He looked across his tiny apartment into the kitchen and thought about getting up to get another bottle, but instead he lay down on the sofa and pulled the blanket over him. He found the remote and turned the volume up, trying to drown out his thoughts with the loud over-acting.

It didn’t stop the thoughts of Kyle. Nothing ever did.

 


	4. Must Try Harder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song is by Cocosuma.

It took Kyle past two months to have a free weekend, despite it only being the first year of University, though he called on occasion, and usually responded to Stan’s texts, which he sent every morning and night without fail. Kyle texted through the day to keep up to date with Stan’s life, which he got in truncated messages. Stan didn’t tell Kyle that he was drinking all weekend, every weekend, and several weekdays. He didn’t tell him that he didn’t know how to make new friends, because he hadn’t made a new friend for years, perfectly content with the ones he had. He didn’t tell him that Sophie had dumped him for being a useless, absent boyfriend. He didn’t tell him about the gay bars, or the drunk sex with strangers, trying desperately to find someone that would fill the void that Kyle had unintentionally left.

He told him, instead, that the course was going well, which it was, all things considered. He wasn’t an outstanding student, and his attendance was sometimes a little flaky, but his assignments were all in on time, and that was enough for Stan. He told him that he missed him, and to his relief, sometimes Kyle texted those important words first. Finally, he said he had a reading week, where Stan should come to visit him.

Stan sang the whole way over to Massachusetts, grinning madly, a bottle of vodka in his bag for them to share, and have a good, fun, drunk night. He stopped off a couple of times on the way to stretch his legs and buy a can of soda, and he arrived at Kyle’s a little earlier than expected. He parked outside of the dorms, and called Kyle, grabbing his rucksack out of the back of his car.

“Hey! Are you here? I’ll come down.”

Kyle appeared at the door a moment later, happiness plastered all over his face. He immediately wrapped Stan up in a bear hug.

“Come on up! I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so sorry that it took so long, it’s crazy busy here, it’s like I never get a break, it’s all go all the time, honestly. I’m on the third floor.”

Kyle talked all the way up to the room, chatting on as if he couldn’t stop himself from talking out of excitement. He opened the door of his bedroom, showing Stan inside. It was a tiny box of a room, with a single bed against one wall, and a wardrobe and a desk with a computer and stacks of books on it against another. There was a chest of drawers and a small bookcase behind the door. Stan looked around, drinking in the arrangement of the room, committing it to memory of something of Kyle’s, his own little space, the same way he remembered the layout of his bedroom back home.

Eventually, Kyle ran out of steam and let out a long breath, sitting down on the bed. Stan sat next to him, stretching out his stiff back, aching from the long drive.

“So, how are you? How was the drive?”

“Traffic was better than I expected, so pretty good. I’m okay. I’m about used to university life.”

They spent the next few hours lounging about on the bed, catching up with everything they hadn’t put into the texts they’d been sending.

“No, so what happened to Sophie? I thought there was a Sophie,” asked Kyle after Stan mentioned his new girlfriend.

“Oh, she uh, we didn’t get on. She was kinda… I don’t know.”

Stan knew exactly what it was. It was her dark hair. It was her laugh. It was the way she put the milk in coffee before water. It was a million nothing-at-all things, but he didn’t know how to put that into words that wouldn’t make him sound simply petty.

“So you’re dating…” Kyle let the sentence trail off, already having forgotten.

“Stephanie.”

“Yeah? What’s she like?”

“She’s…”

Stan paused, unsure how to continue. He knew what had attracted him to her. She drank and smoked and had short copper curls and sea green eyes.

“You know. She’s normal.”

“Oh, a real keeper,” joked Kyle.

“Ha ha. She’s lovely, really. She’s very sweet and caring.”

“How did you meet?”

They had met standing outside a club, ended up laughing about their fake IDs over cigarettes. They were trying to keep the noise down so the bouncer outside didn’t confiscate their means of procuring alcohol. They so far hadn’t had a night together where they hadn’t ended up drunk. She wasn’t too fond of drinking alone, but Stan didn’t like being alone, so he was happy to have someone to drink with.

“Friend of a friend. She’s studying architecture, which is pretty cool.”

 _Half-heartedly_ , Stan added silently. While she was officially enrolled, she skipped more classes than Stan, and had confided she was thinking of dropping out, but wasn’t sure, as she was already in second year.

“What are you doing for Hannukah?” asked Stan, ready to stop talking about the girl he wasn’t really into.

“South Park. My parents would kill me if I didn’t go home over the break. I haven’t booked flights yet though.”

“Me neither. My parents sent me the money to do it and I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Oh cool, I could drive to you and we can fly together.”

“Sounds good.”

Kyle grabbed his laptop and opened up his preferred airline’s website and searched flights, quickly finding the flight, asking when Stan broke up for the holidays. Between them, they chose a flight, and Kyle hit book, Stan logged onto his mobile banking app and sent Kyle the money, thankful that his parents had sent him a little extra and told him to keep the difference. He hadn’t gotten around to finding a job either, and he resolutely told himself that he would do that when he got back to Pennsylvania after Christmas. Kyle’s school didn’t break up until after Hannukah was over, and he’d told Stan about the conversation with his tearful mother where he’d had to tell her he wouldn’t be home in time, but he’d be there for two of the weeks of the winter break.

It would be their first Christmas since they left for university a scant few months earlier, and if Stan was honest, he was nervous. He had barely spoken to Kenny since they left, even though he’d said he would keep in touch. It was just another thing that had fallen by the wayside and he felt guilty for it. He talked to Kyle sometimes about him, asking if he’d heard. Kyle was much better at remembering to drop their old friend a message every now and then. They both agreed they hoped they wouldn’t run into Cartman.

With the flights booked and out of the way, Stan remembered his vodka and checked the time. A sly grin crossed his face.

“I don’t think I told you: I got a fake ID.”

“Stan!”

“No, it’s fine. Look what I brought.”

He produced the clear bottle and Kyle laughed.

“Honestly, Stan. You shouldn’t even be drinking,” he scolded, but Stan knew he didn’t mean it, because he went out of his little dorm room and came back with two glasses. They quickly went down to the closest store to pick up some soda for mixer, and were back in Kyle’s little room pouring out vodka and sugar-free cola into glasses in no time.

They drank deeply and Kyle looked worried.

“What’s up?” asked Stan, leaning into him, feeling warm and content, with Kyle on one side, and a drink in the other.

“I don’t really drink, is this okay?”

“It’s fine, I drink all the time,” said Stan carelessly.

“You do?” Kyle’s voice was laced with suspicion.

“No, not like all the time, just y’know, when I go out on the weekend.”

“Okay…”

“Really, I’m fine. I just thought it might be fun to have something while I’m here this weekend. Living wild at college and all that shit.”

Kyle laughed and took a drink.

“Whatever you say.”

Stan finally gained the courage to move over a little and kiss him gently, almost afraid to start anything after so many months, in case Kyle had wanted to leave all that stuff back in South Park, so he was relieved when he kissed back, tilting his head and easily slipping his tongue between Stan’s lips. They pulled back a moment later, breathless.

“I’ve missed this, but what about, uh, Stephanie?”

Stan had forgotten all about his girlfriend.

“What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her,” offered Stan hopefully. Kyle shook his head despairingly.

“Know I do not approve of this. But I am used to getting laid,” said Kyle sternly. Stan smiled into the kiss pressed against his lips and shivered at the hand that slipped under his t-shirt. Kyle suddenly moved away, reached into the drawer and pulled out condoms and lubricant. He dropped them on the bed and pulled off his t-shirt, looking at Stan with a heady and heavy expression. Stan swallowed, becoming turned on by the simple implication. Kyle wanted sex and he wanted it now. It was something about Kyle that Stan loved – he knew what he wanted and he intended to get it. Stan would always give it to him, because for all he seemed proper and well put together, he was still an eighteen-year-old boy, and had the sex drive of one. Stan didn’t care about who did what, what happened, or who got off first, and he didn’t think Kyle did either, as long as they were pressed hard against each other and Kyle kept making those amazing sounds. Stan all but worshipped Kyle like this, and he wanted to set his nerves alight with sensation, pouring himself into every touch, every kiss.

 _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ pounded through Stan’s veins and drifted on his breath.

They barely left Kyle’s bedroom all weekend, skipping morning showers on Saturday, preferring to stay in bed, having a cosy lie-in, just enjoying each other’s warmth and comfort. They drank from midday, keeping a steady tipsy haze up until night. They dozed, and put on a film, and fell asleep again during it. They lay and talked and kissed and touched for hours. Stan’s heart hurt with how much he’d missed his best friend.

He wanted to broach the subject of them dating again, of writing off Stephanie and asking if the move to Massachusetts was still an option for him. He wanted to fulfil his domestic dreams. He had to ask.

“Why did you ask me to move here with you? Did you mean it.”

“Yeah. But it would have been totally unreasonable. Sorry, dude, but you didn’t make the grades for Harvard.”

“Jesus, I would hate it here. The stress is unreal in this place. But I guess I would just drop out.”

“No way! You worked way too hard to get to Penn U, and you like it, right? It’s going okay?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Stan lied. “But I’d still move here to be with you.”

Kyle sighed.

“It’s not really practical, is it?”

Stan propped himself up on an elbow to look at him properly, sincerely.

“Fuck practical. I miss you when I’m in Penn.”

“Yeah, but how long are we gonna be together?”

Stan’s heart stopped.

“What?” he asked weakly. “What do you mean? We’re together forever.”

“No, of course, you’re gonna be my best friend forever, I’m not losing you for anything. But we can’t really just live together. We’ll get used to being apart.”

“But I can get a job, and you can go to school, and we’ll just live here. Why can’t we live together?”

“Because we have to get on with our own lives eventually. It’s not like high school, we’re not… I don’t know.”

“We’re not…” the words died on Stan’s lips, ending the sentence with his own variations. _We’re not in love. We’re not dating. We’re not one._

Stan left mid-morning the next day, driving back with the stereo turned down. He didn’t sing along, the words turning over in his head. Kyle didn’t want him there anymore. He regretted not agreeing to go with him straight away like he’d wanted to. He hadn’t thought Kyle was being serious, but the conversation they’d had the previous night indicated he had meant it at the time, but he’d since changed his mind. He didn’t want him right next to him any longer. He’d moved on.

He’d never bothered to try to get over Kyle; it just hadn’t seemed important at any point. He didn’t ever think he’d need to. Having Kyle to himself so much growing up, and then the added physical relationship they’d developed, there was nothing to get over. How he felt seemed justified and requited, even if they’d never said as much. He’d even entertained the hopes that when Kyle realised how much he missed Stan when he was so far away from him, he’d admit he was in love with him too. But instead, those thoughts were shattered as Kyle had told him they had to lead separate lives.

_He’s not in love with me._

It dawned slowly, but Stan still realised that there was no way to change that. He would have to move past Kyle and try to make a life that didn’t revolve around him, there was nothing else he could do, because he couldn’t keep pining like this over someone who didn’t feel the same. Stan wanted to cry, it hurt so badly to realise those truths. But what he couldn’t figure out is how to fall _out_ of love, especially with someone as lovable as Kyle.

He arrived home and went straight to bed. He sent Kyle a brief text letting him know he’d got home safe, but said little else. He didn’t text for the rest of the week, and neither did Kyle. He did receive an email from him with a copy of their plane tickets, but said he’d print them off in advance. He hadn’t written anything affectionate in the email, just a short, almost formal message about getting the bus across to Stan’s, so he could leave his car behind the locked gates of Harvard for the winter break.

Kyle did message the week after, checking in.

_Haven’t heard from you in a bit. Everything okay? X_

Stan fiddled with his phone for a moment, not sure how to respond.

_Yeah, just been busy. How are you?_

Stan was confident that sounded normal, something one friend would say to another. He was determined he wasn’t going to be weird about this again, and he was getting kind of obsessed over Kyle.

He spent a full day cleaning out his dorm room, washing dishes and wiping down dusty and coffee stained surfaces. He resolved to keep on top of the cleaning, and to do another big clean before Kyle came over for the flight to South Park the following month. He tidied the bottles on top of the dresser, and also decided to have finished them and disposed of the evidence before he arrived.

Though he made himself the best promises that he’d clean every week, attend all his lectures, and work harder on his assignments, it had all fallen through by the second week. It was Wednesday and he was still in bed well after his lectures had started and he hadn’t even been bothered enough to go to the other side of his room to get a drink.

He didn’t get out of bed until Thursday.

“I just feel… _bad_ all the time. Nothing really makes me happy anymore,” Stan said, looking at his hands in his lap, feeling embarrassed to have gotten to this point, but he had to do something. He was tired all the time, that was the first sign, he was struggling to get out of bed and get into classes. Or anywhere. He didn’t do laundry often enough, and he couldn’t be bothered to clean, because he was simply too run down to have the energy to do anything. Video games and TV had lost all appeal. He had stopped caring about anything and it wasn’t normal, so he’d gone to see his doctor about it, fearing it might be another wave of the depression he’d seemed to have suffered from since he was only ten. However, at nineteen, he knew more about what could be done, and instead of self-medicating with vodka and whiskey, he had learned that there were tablets to alleviate this feeling. So he went to ask about it. The doctor gave him a prescription and Stan filled out his parents’ insurance details, and agreed that he’d find a counsellor to talk to, even if he didn’t really mean it. He took one little pill every day and hoped it might make him feel better.

He called his parents to let them know he’d used the insurance, but decided not to tell Kyle. He went back to bed when he came home from the doctor and stayed there for the rest of the day. Stephanie called, but he simply set his phone to silent and dropped it on the floor. There was no-one he wanted to talk to anyway.

He stared at it on the floor and simply rolled over when a message from Kyle came through. There was no-one he wanted to talk to.

He did clean up before Kyle arrived. He was feeling slightly better those six weeks later when he showed up. He’d been sporadically answering Kyle’s texts when he could face it, but more often his heart sank and he laid the phone face down out of his sight when _SBF_ popped up on the screen with a little picture of Kyle laughing, his hair spiralling wildly from under the green ushanka he wore for most of his childhood. It was about five years old, but Stan had never managed to take another photo quite as well.

He picked Kyle up from the bus station and helped him load his suitcase and heavy backpack into the car. He didn’t kiss him, he didn’t hug him, he barely even looked at him. He was worried that if he looked into his eyes, he’d get lost and fall all over again, and he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.

They drove quietly, Stan completely at a loss as to what to say, as if they’d managed to drift apart in the few months they’d been away. Kyle finally spoke up about it.

“Okay, seriously, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Stan said, glancing over and catching Kyle’s concerned expression. “I’m cool. Just pretty tired after the first semester, you know.”

“Oh yeah, it’s so good to get a break, even if we have to spend most of it in South Park.”

“It’s so lame.”

“I guess it’ll be good to see our families though. Is Shelly there yet?”

Stan rolled his eyes. His older sister was a pain in the ass, although she was a lot less bad-tempered than she was when they were kids, they still didn’t really get on. Her nerdy boyfriend would probably come to stay for a week, as he often did when she came home for holidays.

“No, she comes tomorrow. God, I wonder if South Park has burned down while we were away.”

Kyle crossed his fingers and stuck out his tongue.

The flight was only a few hours once they’d actually left the ground, and Stan learned that Kyle hated flying. He had been almost silent since they boarded the plane, and Stan noticed he seemed especially pale. The engines started and Kyle gripped the armrest between them and Stan hesitated, but placed his hand over Kyle’s. Kyle gripped it tightly without even a glance. Stan was more than surprised, although he’d never questioned it, Kyle had a ‘it’s not gay if no-one sees it’ mentality, refusing to even hold hands outside, but in his fear, he was clinging onto Stan’s hand like it was the only thing keeping the plane in the air. When it steadied out, the hold loosened but Kyle didn’t take his hand away.

Stan didn’t want to so much as touch Kyle anymore because of what it might bring out in him, and he was trying his hardest to not be in love with him. He was doing his best, and wanted to move his fingers away but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. They held hands for the whole flight.

 


End file.
